Forced love // dreamnotfound

22

George had fallen asleep on the floor, and woke up in the afternoon, several feet away from the spot he had fallen asleep at.

He stood up and jumped to his bed, laid down in it and felt much more comfort from the soft mattress that held him so lightly. He sank in the mattress and wondered whether he should go back to sleep, even though he's been sleeping for quite the few hours already.

He wouldn't have to go downstairs to eat, so.

He turned on his left side, and saw the notebook, that was missing the ending to the story of his life. He definitely hadn't written anything about punching and beating ups, only tolerable events.

He thought he could cure Dreams anger, maybe make him better, considering how he often calmed him down on stream successfully. But who was he kidding, the only thing that could calm him down would be a therapist and a few chill pills.

He rolled. A lot. Seemed like he couldn't fall asleep. Time to time he fell asleep, but only to wake up a few seconds later, not realizing that he even fell asleep at all.

This won't be happening, there won't be any more sleeping.

Dream didn't seem to be calling them down, so maybe on his anger days there are no sit down meals, only sneaking into the kitchen and back to their rooms.

He picked up the water bottle that had been sitting by his bed for days. Sad little bottle, no action at all in it's life.

He took the cap off and put it by his side. His hand tilted the bottle, aiming towards his face, he was being dumb, and decided to try and pour the water in his mouth himself, without his lips attaching to the bottle, but as everyone already know how George is, all of the water that was in the bottle spilled all over not only his clothes and face, but also his bed, which he had to sleep in.

He stood up and gasped, he hit himself on the forehead and groaned from all the self hate this spill caused him. Why did he have to do that? Why does he have to be alive right now? Why is life so impossible?

All he wanted was just to be back at his house, and do nothing. His phone made his whole day, and without it it's just not the same.

His stomach grumbled. He should really eat, and from experience, it gets quite bad when he doesn't.

His legs slipped out from the bed and landed on the cold floor, with one foot protected from the cold by the cast. He stood up, got the crutches and aknowledged the fact that he's most likely about to meet Dream.

Hopefully he won't yell at him to go back upstairs, that he's not worth food, or just any kind of yelling. George is just not built to be yelled at, it hurts too much.

He stood at the door, the entrance to what could be his death, anything could happen while facing Dream.

Does he really want to eat though? It just doesn't feel worth it.

His hand quivered over the door handle, battling itself to just open the damn door. But he couldn't.

He quickly got back to his bed and dropped the crutches, the anxiety won this time, too much of everything going on, he's simply incapable of even being in the same room as Dream.

He was back where he started, in his bed that was now uncomfortably wet. He changed sides and put the broadly small pillow on the other end of the bed, and slowly changed the direction he was laying in, his feet now where his head used to he.

His eyes themselves took a quick, repetitive glance over to his little notebook reminding of what's missing. He had to finally think of at least something.

Do people actually pass out from a hit to the head? It feels like Dream wouldn't, or George just wouldn't be strong enough to make an actual concussion.

He could also just rid himself of his life and continue on in the afterlife, wherever that would be.

Nah... That seems too low for him, he has to think of something happier.

So he just thought and thinked. All he had was his mind to take advantage of, Dream hasn't blessed him with as much stuff as Sapnap.

Time went by slowly. Not just slowly, but incredibly slowly. Was it even moving forward? Or the clock that he had noticed just that day, wasn't working. It doesn't have a seconds hand, so it was quite impossible to see if the time in it was actually moving forward.

He took the notebook again and opened it up. Might as well read everything that his brain somehow came up with, poured out words in an order that made sense.

Reading the transformer story seemed even shittier than writing it. He knew that it's an absurd story line, but still he went with it. It's George, why wouldn't he.

It had ended at what seemed like the end of some type of twist. It was all figured out and there was a shortage of what could possibly come next.

Maybe another twist, maybe let the characters lay low, how is he supposed to know what would be the correct choice here. He didn't, so he ended it, dumped it at it's finest flow.

Giving up fastly is one of the most toxic traits of him, but definitely also one of the hardest to avoid. It feels so easy to just throw everything out, and do absolutely zero of anything.

With the streams it was the same. He had given up on trying months ago, Dream was the only reason he continued. And of course the money he was getting.

Dream came up with every single idea for his streams and most tweets. He heard it, and right then claimed it as his own idea, with Dream just hinting him towards it, while what actually was going on here was Dream completely revealing the thought of what would seem engaging enough.

Dream was his saviour before all this, how could someone like that turn out to be the opposite of the thought they put of themselves in your mind.